


Coincidence

by malchanceux



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: (I want), Hurt!John, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but it could just be canonical character interest, could be implied onesided Elias/Reese if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malchanceux/pseuds/malchanceux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Reese inadvertently helps Elias' cause again, get’s injured, and Scarface kills an EMT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coincidence

**Author's Note:**

> Dunno if this is it or if there'll be more.
> 
> If there *is* more, it'll most likely be onesided Elias/Reese, where this is gen and/or Elias/Reese depending on whether or not you put on your shipper goggles and play around with "what if's".
> 
> Enjoy?

_Snap, crackle, pop!_

The world’s spinning around him—and burning. It’s hot. Reese tries to take a deep breath, coughs; hisses at the sharp pain in his chest, then coughs again. His head is pounding, and something warm and slick is running down the side of his face. _That can’t be good._

He opens his eyes, everything blurry and distant, like a camera out of focus. He’s in a car, though, that much he can tell, but John can’t quite figure out why his head is on the steering wheel.

His ears are ringing, and everything is muffled—but through the haze he hears yelling, gun fire; people running—heavy booted feet crunching on uneven gravel, the sound getting closer and closer.

 _Must have broken something they liked_ , he thinks—hysterical—before the car door is yanked open, and he’s blinded by a flashlight while he chokes on smoke.

 

 

 

The next thing John’s aware of is bright, flashing lights. Red and white, blinking tirelessly. Reese hears a loud rumbling engine, and thinks it must be an ambulance. But that… that just can’t be right.

_“You’re in enemy territory. You get caught; you’re on your own.”_

They can’t take him. The moment he reaches the hospital he’ll be compromised—good as dead. John tries to move his arm, to check and see if he still has his gun, but he’s restrained—tied down. He blinks in confusion; stares up at what he thinks is a smoky night time sky, the feel of something solid but comfortable under his back—he must already be on the gurney.

His heart races with panic, beating heavy and scared in his sore chest. He can’t concentrate, which in itself should worry him, but only choppy, fear filled thoughts of abandonment and failure occupy his mind.

Suddenly an image comes to him—a bird, and then glasses—computers and the smell of cheap corner coffee.

“Finch,” his voice is hoarse, throat dry from the smoke, and he coughs again—has a hard time catching his breath. But he struggles against his restraints anyway; can’t tell if his headset in still in his ear—if his phone’s even on him. _“Finch.”_

“It’s okay, sir. Calm down,” a head swims into focus, looking down at him with a concerned smile. Hands reach for him, and something cool and plastic is put over his mouth and nose; making it easier to breathe—oxygen. “We’re gonna get ya to the hospital real soon, just take it easy.”

“No… Hospitals,” he huffs, but it goes either unnoticed or ignored. John knows he needs to say more; needs to get his point across—a hospital won’t save him, it’ll get him killed—but his vision starts to swim, the world going in and out of focus; head pounding with the beat of his heart. He can hardly make a coherent thought, let alone voice his paranoia concerning whichever hospital the EMT plans on taking him.

“How is he?” The voice is miles away, but familiar. Reese can’t quite put a face to the thick New York accent, though.

“He’s pretty banged up, but all in all I’d say he’s lucky. S’gotta fever though, but it’s nothing we can’t handle,” Reese turns his head, wants to know who the EMT is talking to, but can’t get his vision to focus enough on the tall, dark haired man he’s facing—or the shorter blond behind him. “Thank God you two were in the area though, smoke inhalation would’a killed him.”

“Yeah, thank God,” the tall man says, pulling something from behind his back. Reese blinks slowly a few times, before his eyes just refuse to open. 

There’s another gunshot; a pained yelp, before he floats away.

 

 

 

Gentle swaying greets him next, and a whole lot of white—he’s in the ambulance. Reese starts to panic again, looks over at the EMT—not entirely sure how he’ll convince the guy he’s not just crazy—but his eyes catch on the mans jaw line, at the long, thin scar there.

He has to stare for a moment, still dazed and confused, before everything clicks into place. John lays his head back down, and concentrates on his breathing.

He’s not going to the hospital anymore.

“You saved my ass back there,” the man with the scar says. “And my boss still has a thing for you. I’m doing you this favor, and maybe a bit of a favor for myself—this calls us even.”

With the immediate threat gone, Reese shuts his eyes and lets the insistent rocking put him to sleep.


End file.
